


how to feel infinite

by dizzywhiz



Series: tumblr prompt fills [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bookstore!Klaine, Coworkers!Klaine, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Meet Messy, Portland!Klaine, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: Kurt just moved to Portland, and he needs a job. But then he gets coffee spilled all over him on the sidewalk, and then he gets a job, and, well. He didn't exactly expect those two things to have a connection.Portland/Bookstore/Coworkers!Klaine with a little Enemies to Lovers!
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: tumblr prompt fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991341
Comments: 19
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter's just carried over from my tumblr prompt, but I'm posting ahead of a part 2 coming soon :-)

Kurt’s head might be down, buried in his phone, and he might be walking down the sidewalk too briskly compared to the lazy Sunday morning wanderers headed to and from flea markets and farmers’ co-ops, but what happens still isn’t his fault.

It isn’t.

It’s not his fault that he bumps - no, _crashes_ \- into someone right as he walks out of his favorite coffee shop, but suddenly there’s a full-force collision, and there’s scaldingly hot coffee spilling all over him, and it _burns._

“Watch where you’re going!” he hisses, hoisting his messenger bag further onto his shoulder and pointlessly tugging the clinging wet fabric away from his torso with his free hand. _God,_ it’s probably ruined, and he’s still finding his way around the thrifting scene in Portland, and he _really_ liked this sweater…

“I am _so_ sorry.” 

Kurt jerks his head up at the voice, looking at his offender for the first time, up and down - colorful boat shoes, sockless ankles revealed by cuffed jeans, a chunky, warm-looking sweater, dark curly hair poking out from underneath-

A _beanie._

Kurt wasn’t an idiot - he knew to expect hipsters along all lengths of the cliche spectrum when he moved to Oregon. He _knew._

But those godforsaken beanies drive him insane (and maybe he has his high school ex-boyfriend, Chandler, Ohio’s most hip hipster, to thank for tarnishing _that)._

Either way, this beanie-wearing Portland cliche has just dumped coffee all over Kurt, and now the guy is looking at him like he actually feels terribly, _horribly_ guilty about it, like he did something much worse than ruin Kurt’s sweater.

Which, truthfully, is still pretty bad.

And the guy starts talking again.

“Look, I-I know it’s not much, but if you- This coffee was for my boss, so I’ll have to go back in, and I-I could get you something if you want, a coffee or a donut or a sandwich or- or _anything-”_

Later, Kurt will blame this on his lack of caffeine, on the piling-up nights sleeping on his aunt’s lumpy couch, on his sweater being ruined, on being insanely uncomfortable and embarrassed and _tired,_ because what he says is pettier and more rude and just _more_ than what this guy deserves, and what he says is this:

“I think I would rather eat expired spam than anything _you_ would buy me.”

The guy flinches, and Kurt wants to flinch, too, and he wants to backtrack, because he’s suddenly also aware that he’s- he’s kind of cute, really, those guilt-ridden eyes soft and warm and golden, sunlight compared to the near-eternal gray gloom of the Pacific Northwest.

But Kurt isn’t one to waver, particularly not for a stranger, particularly not for someone that’s inconvenienced him.

And so without another word, he brushes past the guy and into the coffee shop, clinging wet sweater be damned, because he needs coffee, and he needs _this_ coffee, and he’s not about to walk all the way back to his aunt’s house to change.

He orders, and he ignores the way the barista is looking at him, pointedly avoids looking at anyone else to determine whether the guy actually _did_ come back in or not. Instead, Kurt looks at the bulletin board covered in flyers by the counter while he waits for his latte, and one captures his interest.

The gist of it: Powell’s Books, help wanted, email resume, wait for a call.

And Kurt suddenly remembers he needs a job. He needs money - he’s running out of it, actually, and if he has any hopes of making it in Portland and making it _off_ his aunt’s lumpy couch, he needs an income.

Plus, he’s been meaning to go to Powell’s. It just makes sense.

He applies, gets the call, interviews, and nails it - because of course he does.

And then Kurt receives a call offering him the job, and the older lady on the other end explains that when he shows up for his first day, he should ask any worker for Blaine, because that’s who will be training him.

Tuesday morning, 8am, Blaine. Got it.

It’s a few days away, but the morning comes quickly, and Kurt feels ready for it. He’s smart, capable, a quick learner, all traits instilled in him by his dad. He can handle _books._

Powell’s, of course, is huge. It’s more than just a bookstore, and he knows this, and he _loves_ it. He wants to get lost in the shelves, wants to find all of his favorites and discover new loves and immerse himself in it all.

He hopes he’ll have time to, at least during his breaks.

He pushes open the front doors to Powell’s at exactly 7:58, and he plucks off his sunglasses, folds them, and tucks them into the side pocket of his bag, and he approaches the front counter. It’s quiet, the shop a couple minutes from its official opening for the morning, but there are a few other employees milling around, people he figures he’ll soon know.

“Sorry, um, I’m Kurt Hummel,” he introduces himself, approaching the friendliest-looking one, a girl a few years younger than him. “I’m starting today, with Blaine?”

She smiles at him, and she nods, and she leads him over to who he assumes is Blaine, his back towards them, straightening a shelf of Austen classics.

“Blaine? Kurt’s here for you,” she says, tapping Blaine on the shoulder.

Blaine turns around, smiling widely, but it instantly falters as their eyes meet, and Kurt feels hot and scalded all over again, because there he is, the ruiner of Kurt’s sweater, the ruiner of Kurt’s Sunday morning, the stupid beanie-wearing Oregon cliche who looks like he _belongs_ in the most annoying way.

And he’s supposed to train Kurt.

* * *

It’s not going well.

It’s really, really not.

The job itself is fine - there aren’t too many nightmare customers, and the pay is good for a retail job, and Kurt likes his schedule for the most part.

But Blaine.

Blaine _Anderson_ drives Kurt up the wall on a daily basis, during every single shift they share, which is _most_ of them, with his endless bounding energy, even ridiculously early in the morning, even on the mistiest, foggiest days outside. With his enthusiasm and his excitement and his _passion,_ especially for the music section, which, yeah, is Kurt’s favorite part of the store, too.

The enthusiasm is what drives Kurt the most insane - because everyone receives it but him.

Around Kurt, Blaine shuts down and closes up, sticking to the basic logistics and formalities of the job, correcting Kurt’s mistakes when he makes them and teaching him how to not do them again, training him properly but keeping it strictly, strictly professional.

It’s not that Kurt _wants_ to be on the receiving end of Blaine’s- _Blaine,_ but it just… It bothers him.

Blaine bothers him.

They continue that way, working in a stilted, icy partnership, for several weeks, but then they’re both slated for a closing shift on a Friday night, one no one wants, one where the shop is the quietest, and somehow they’re the _only_ ones left by the time they need to close up.

Kurt doesn’t know where Blaine is, and so he wanders the aisles, looking, finally finding him with his back leaned up against the bookshelves, nose in a copy of _The Perks of Being a Wallflower._

It’s one of Kurt’s favorites, actually.

“Reading on the job?” he asks despite himself, unsure of why he’s so suddenly driven by the need to strike up a truce, but he’s driven all the same, all the way to step right in front of Blaine, pressing a finger into the spine of the book to lower it from Blaine’s gaze, to guarantee his attention.

Blaine’s eyes flick up, intent dark pupils against swirls of amber and honey, and that’s the other annoying part of it all.

Blaine is ridiculously, devastatingly beautiful.

Kurt wants to punch him, or- _or._

“We accept the love we think we deserve,” is all Blaine says, and Kurt’s breath hitches in his chest, confused, the words familiar, but Blaine saying them, Blaine’s voice, low and soft, just the two of them in the bookstore-

Kurt’s eyes drift down to the book in Blaine’s hand, and, _right. Perks._

“I’m surprised you read this kind of thing,” Kurt says without meaning it, needing to keep his defenses up somehow. “I figured you must have the emotional capacity of a brick.”

 _When you’re around me, at least,_ he wants to add. _I think I was too hard on you back then, and I have no idea how to fix it._

He blinks down at the book instead, the lime green cover a stark contrast to the low light in the closed store, the heaviness in Blaine’s gaze.

There’s a tension between them, just like there always is, but it feels _different,_ now, thicker, more important, keeping Kurt from breathing and keeping him from stepping back, making him want to get even closer.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Blaine murmurs, and Kurt’s eyes flicker up to Blaine’s face just as Blaine’s flicker down to - _oh god -_ Kurt’s _mouth,_ just for a split second, so quickly that Kurt isn’t even completely convinced it happened, but-

That’s it.

The tension snaps.

And Kurt gives in and he steps forward the rest of the way, and he leans his body against Blaine’s, pressing him back into the bookshelf, _Perks_ crushed between them, leaning their foreheads together and cupping Blaine’s jaw but _stopping, waiting, tell me this is okay, tell me it isn’t just me, tell me I can fix this…_

He’s close enough to hear Blaine inhale a shaky, jagged breath, and when he lets out the smallest broken whimper on the exhale, Kurt knows.

Kurt _knows._

He grips Blaine’s hip with his free hand, and he captures his lips in a deep, slow kiss, and Blaine responds instantly, reaching up to thread his fingers in Kurt’s hair, _yes, there’s_ that enthusiasm, the enthusiasm he really, truly _did_ want, and suddenly Kurt _gets_ it, he gets what they say in the book, he _gets_ feeling infinite because he feels it now, in this moment, wants to stay here forever, kissing Blaine.

He pulls away for a breath when he needs it, nearly overcome, but he stays close, _needs_ to be close, and when his eyes flutter open, Blaine’s do too, softer and warmer than Kurt has ever seen them.

“This moment will just be another story someday,” Blaine breathes, another quote from the book, and Kurt loves it, feels it settle comfortably in his heart, though he hopes to hear _Blaine’s_ words, too, separate from the book they both know, from a story that isn’t their own.

“But the story could be _ours,”_ Kurt whispers in reply because he wants it to be, needs it to be, and suddenly, all bitterness and annoyance dissolved like it was never there in the first place, he _knows_ it will be.

He _knows_ they’ll have a story, and it’ll be a good one, and _this moment_ is just the beginning of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a direct continuation of the first part - though it's....not much plot.
> 
> but they demanded to be written some more, and who am I to resist?

“I want to go home with you.”

He pants it, hot and ragged into Blaine’s ear, knees shaking from the feeling of Blaine’s body firmly pressed against his own, compact and tight muscle in all the right places, slightly small in a way that makes Kurt feel powerful, yet insistent and in control in the way his hand creeps down Kurt’s back and ends up on the swell of his ass, pulling him closer, in the way his fingers are twined into Kurt’s hair, just holding him there without an ounce of doubt in the embrace.

And _kissing_ him, quickly turned from soft and tentative and questioning into something so much _more,_ something that’s shooting electricity through Kurt’s veins and making his stomach coil with a ferocious, fiery want, moments away from a _need._

Blaine’s mouth, lips full and pliant and slotting into Kurt’s like they were meant to, Blaine’s tongue all perfect wet heat, Blaine’s teeth nipping Kurt’s bottom lip and wanting, wanting, _god, needing._

Still with Blaine pressed right up against the bookcase.

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” Blaine counters, taking the opportunity to speak as Kurt moves to kiss across his jaw, down his neck, sucking, gently biting, searching for the places that drive Blaine crazy, for the ones that make him moan, low in the back of his throat.

When Kurt hears the _thud_ of Blaine’s head knocking against the shelf, feels the vibration of the impact, he counts it as a win.

“I’m crashing on my aunts couch,” Kurt explains in a whisper, kissing along the shell of Blaine’s ear, shifting to press his leg between Blaine’s, feeling a little thrill when Blaine’s spread so quickly in offering, and _god,_ it feels good, slotting their hips together and feeling the friction, a mere ghost of what’s to come. “Considering what I want to do to you… I don’t think that would make me a very good houseguest.”

Blaine whimpers _,_ then, actually _whimpers,_ his hips jolting forward in a spark of need, of pleasure, of _more._

Kurt can feel Blaine hard and heavy against his hip, and Kurt’s right there with him, too, _shit,_ he is _,_ but he’s moments away from dropping to his knees and taking Blaine into his mouth right then and there, which is just- something he can’t bring himself to do, not right there in his workplace, in the young adult section of one of the most popular bookstores in the country.

And so he forces himself to pull away from Blaine’s embrace, to pull his hands out from where they were shoved up underneath his polo shirt, bare on the hot skin of Blaine’s torso and his sides, to clear his mind well enough to finish closing up for the night and make it back to Blaine’s place, wherever he lives, before he rightly explodes.

Pulling away means _looking_ at Blaine, means finding that Blaine looks absolutely wrecked already, curly hair mussed and damp with the beginnings of sweat, face flushed, pupils blown, lips swollen and kissed red, chest heaving.

And Kurt has never ached so badly for another human being, for _anything,_ in his entire life.

Blaine rights himself up from the bookshelf with a stumble, and they just _look_ at each other for a moment, energy charged, air thick between them, a promise of what’s to come, a question of what it all could mean.

Kurt blinks, and he takes a breath, and he nods, an attempt to break the spell of the moment that doesn’t work at all, not in the slightest.

They finish locking up in silence, not talking, not touching, though the electricity in the building remains, closing in on them, in the way Blaine’s body lightly ghosts against Kurt’s as he passes behind him at the checkout desk, in the way their fingers brush against each other on the countertop when they don’t even need to, in the way they glance at each other, lock eyes and _maintain_ the contact, Blaine’s gaze an intoxicating combination of warmth and darkness all at once, inevitability in the weight of it.

The feeling continues closing in on them as they make their way back to Blaine’s apartment, which happens to be only a few blocks away, allowing Kurt the infuriating thrill of brushing hands as they walk, Blaine guiding him, even Blaine’s hand on the small of his back for a brief moment, ushering him up to the right building’s entrance, his palm pure heat, even through Kurt’s rain jacket.

And then they step into the elevator, and the world around them constricts that much more, making Kurt have to hold his breath and curl his fists in at his sides in a white-knuckled grip in order to keep himself from pressing Blaine back into the wall again, kissing him and never stopping.

It’s strange, really, the pull Kurt feels to Blaine all of the sudden, so strong in its magnetism, so intoxicating in its intensity.

Part of him wonders if Blaine feels the same, _what_ Blaine feels in general, if Blaine hates him or wants him or somewhere in between, if Blaine’s thought of this before or is just going along with it, along with what Kurt is doing.

And so Kurt doesn’t do anything, there in the elevator, just in case it’s too much, just in case Blaine doesn’t really want this, want _him._

The apartment is tiny, but it’s Blaine’s, and it’s _only_ Blaine’s, and that only adds to the feeling, the way that it seems like they’re the only two people in the city, on the planet, in the universe.

And that’s it.

In a surprising turn, Blaine is the first to break the ice, to snap the tension this time, to bring them back to where they were before, turning to Kurt with a desperately sharp inhale of a breath and reaching to grip his hips, thumbs digging in there, just above the waistband of Kurt’s jeans, and then just _looking_ at him with all of the fire and electricity that they had already shared right there in his eyes, with so much more, too, the return of that promise, ready to come to life.

Kurt’s breath stutters in his chest, and he freezes, not from lack of want but because he feels overcome by it, unsure of what to do first, unsure of what to do _period._

He’s never been shaken this way before, didn’t know it was possible for him to _feel_ this way, doesn’t quite know how to handle it. It’s like he wants so _much,_ wants _everything_ with Blaine in the blink of an eye when, just hours ago, it felt like he wanted nothing to do with him. But maybe that annoyance was misplaced regret for the foot they got off on, and maybe blaming Blaine for all of it was easier and _safer_ than Kurt taking responsibility himself.

Whatever Kurt’s problem was with Blaine - it’s gone, and now he feels like he’s missed out on what could have been, wonders if they can still have it, wonders if it’s too late.

Wonders what _he_ wants himself, actually, beyond Blaine’s mouth and his taste and his hands and his skin at this very moment.

But instead of lingering on it, Kurt takes a breath and he reaches out, grasping Blaine’s elbow with certainty and swaying into him, just a little, before pulling him in the direction of what he assumes is Blaine’s bedroom, presumptuous again.

Blaine goes willfully, though, and by the time they make it there, Kurt’s mind is back on track, singly refocused on getting back to where they were before, kissing, pressed together, panting, _heat._

He starts by pressing his hands on Blaine’s chest and pushing him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him, straddling his hips, slowly, slowly threading his fingers into his curls, tugging just because he can, feeling a little thrill at the way Blaine whimpers again, tilts his head back into his touch.

“What do you want?” Kurt asks, just feeling like he should, unsure of what _he_ wants himself, just- he can’t focus on one single thing, whether he wants to kiss Blaine or strip his shirt off, whether he wants to touch him or taste him because _those_ are his only two options here and now, he can’t even begin to consider the possibility of-

“I- Just-” Blaine stutters, reaching up to grip Kurt’s face in his trembling hands, to pull him down into a heated kiss, making low, needy noises in the back of his throat. 

Kurt stays there, letting Blaine take what he needs, feeling like it’s a way to make it all up to him, the unfairness and the snap judgements and the hostility.

When Blaine speaks again, it’s more of an exhale of a shaken breath than anything else, and it’s into Kurt’s mouth, against his lips, driving straight down, down, to where his cock is aching in his jeans, leaving Kurt in no position to do anything but agree.

“Touch me. _Please,_ Kurt.”

And so Kurt does.

He makes the most of it, though, facing the very real possibility that this might be _it,_ this might be the only time. He shoves back off of the mattress, off of Blaine, to sit back on his thighs instead, taking a long moment to rock his hips down, slowly and teasing, making a point to watch Blaine while he does it, to watch his brows furrow, his face tense, his lips part in a little whine in the wake of the friction, _something_ but not nearly enough, not for either of them.

Kurt pulls his own shirt off, first, not showy but only functional, desperate, needing it gone because he needs _Blaine,_ needs Blaine’s skin against his own, under his palms, everywhere. 

Blaine’s sharp inhale of a breath surprises Kurt, catching him off guard as he tosses his work polo unceremoniously onto the floor somewhere beside them, and Blaine surprises him again when he sits up, when his palms are suddenly hot and heavy against Kurt’s torso, touching his stomach, his waist, his chest, his back, his shoulders.

It should make it easier to get _Blaine’s_ shirt off, and it does, in a way, but Kurt’s nearly overcome by the addictive feeling of Blaine _touching_ him, Blaine’s fingertips ghosting across the sensitive parts of his hips and his belly, thumbing over his nipples on the way to trace along his collarbones, hands smoothing over his shoulders - just _touching_ him, mapping him, learning him, making Kurt want to shake, making him want to crumble.

The moment Blaine’s shirt is off, Kurt gives himself over to it.

His hands find their way to Blaine’s chest, muscles under warmed skin, and he presses his forehead against Blaine’s, and he just _breathes,_ or he tries to, at least, drinking him in with each ragged draw in as he begins to rock his hips down again and into Blaine’s lap, riding the course of heat and pleasure he gets from it, from Blaine hot and panting and _wanting_ underneath him.

It all begins to blur together, the feelings of Blaine’s hands all over him like a wildfire, of the heat pooled and coiling impossibly low in the pit of his stomach, of Blaine under _Kurt’s_ hands, too, of falling back to lay on the bed again, still moving together and _building_ it, of chasing what they both want, of finding themselves kissing again with no finesse but not caring in the slightest.

Suddenly, it’s not enough.

With trembling hands, Kurt reaches down to unbutton Blaine’s pants and unzip his fly, to push them down to his around thighs because that’s as good as it’ll get, that’s as patient as he can be, because he suddenly remembers what he came here for, what he’s meant to be doing, what Blaine _asked_ for.

He needs to touch.

And Blaine’s spread underneath him, chest heaving with breaths and skin shining with the beginnings of sweat, visible in the low light of the room, torso taut and tanned with the slightest belly, a line of hair leading down, down, underneath his briefs - his briefs that are positively _straining_ around the thick length of his cock, beginnings of a damp spot where-

Kurt is done for.

Apparently, so is Blaine, based on the way he lifts up enough to ineffectively paw at Kurt’s jeans, ending up with his fingers hooked in the belt loops, tugging with no hopes at accomplishing anything, impossibly clear in its meaning. 

And who would Kurt be to resist _this,_ to resist being _wanted_ by the very person he _so_ wants, too?

He makes quick work of it, climbing off of Blaine and the bed just long enough to strip off his skinny jeans, initially regretting how tedious they are to manage - though one look at _Blaine,_ at how Blaine’s _watching_ him, heavy-lidded eyes glued to Kurt’s body, raking, scanning, _memorizing._

In a quick decision, Kurt strips off his underwear, too, letting out a shaky breath as his cock comes free of his briefs, feeling heavy between his legs.

 _“Kurt,”_ Blaine whispers, so quietly that Kurt would have questioned that he’d spoken at all, had it not struck him straight in the heart, pulled him back to the bed like a magnet.

And when Blaine lifts his hips up off of the bed and kicks off his pants the rest of the way and his underwear, too, Kurt goes, goes _back_ to him.

Time moves quickly after that, once Kurt returns, now curling up on his side and into Blaine, hitching a leg over Blaine’s hips, close enough for their foreheads to knock together, close enough for their breaths to mix hot and heady between them as they _touch,_ Blaine’s hand wrapped around Kurt and Kurt’s around Blaine, a jagged lack of rhythm and building of pleasure.

Kurt feels his mind going fuzzy, like he isn’t fully aware of what’s going on, of what’s happening, only stolen moments: the first time Blaine’s thumb swipes over the head of his cock, the way their knuckles bump against one another between them, the noises Blaine is making and the noises _Kurt_ is making, soft moans and hitched gasps and breathless requests for _more, faster, right there,_ the insistent heat digging its way into Kurt’s belly, tightening, tightening, a coil threatening to snap, to spring, to break free.

The way Blaine says Kurt’s name when he comes, a broken moan, trembled on the _K,_ curling around the rest of it, unlike anything Kurt has heard before, unlike any way he has ever felt.

And Kurt breaks entirely, hips stuttering as he comes, too, in a burst of an orgasm that rushes hot through his veins, to his fingers and to his toes, all-encompassing, a wash that covers him all at once and lingers, takes what feels like ages to fade, to recover from.

Once he comes down from it, and once Blaine does, too, he realizes they’re clinging to each other, fingernails digging into skin, sweaty limbs tangled together, shaky, drawn out, completely spent.

Suddenly, it’s too much.

Kurt pulls himself away slowly, feeling like an extraction, like he’s untangling his heart and his soul along with his arms and legs, but he does it anyways, falling onto his back and trying to remember how to breathe, how to function, how to _be._

How to be _apart_ from Blaine, because he has no idea what will happen next.

“That was-” Blaine breathes with a giddy, unabashed laugh, shifting onto his side to curl up next to Kurt, not quite touching but _close,_ infuriatingly so. “I… Thanks.”

Kurt’s staring up at the ceiling, _still_ feeling like he’s recovering, nerve endings tingling, still feeling boneless, wondering how long he can give himself before he needs to get up and out of Blaine’s hair, not wanting to impose, not wanting to assume.

When he glances over and feels struck by the swirls of gold and honey in Blaine’s eyes and the impossibly long lashes fanning over his cheeks as he slowly blinks, he knows it’s time to go.

He nods, short and curt, and he sits up, running his fingers through his hair once before making to get up, to grab his clothes and-

Blaine reaches out and grabs his wrist, stopping Kurt short, making Kurt’s heart stop, too, if only for a moment.

“What?” he asks breathlessly, struck by the gentle, contented smile on Blaine’s face that looks like it’s in every inch of him, somewhere, all over his face and his body and in his touch, right there on Kurt’s arm.

Blaine’s smile grows, just a little, but there’s a flicker of unmistakable nervousness in his eyes, somehow the first Kurt’s seen of it all night, as he speaks a single word, “Stay.”

_Stay._

It means laying back down, it means spending _time_ with Blaine in a way they never have before, spending time without a shared goal, always just work, before, and now- now what they _just_ shared, connection and heat and release, one right after the other.

It means much, much more than just this once, and Kurt doesn’t know exactly _what_ it means, but just-

More.

But he still doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand _why,_ is still trying to process the fact that Blaine kissed him back that very first time, up against the bookshelves, teenage Kurt’s favorite book crushed between them.

And he needs to know, so he asks, a little lamely, a little shaken: “Why?”

“I always had a feeling that you… Weren’t exactly the guy I bumped into that first day,” Blaine shrugs a little, as if it’s something simple, thumb stroking the inside of Kurt’s wrist. “I don’t know. I thought maybe we could… We could talk.”

“Oh,” Kurt says dumbly, because that’s all he’s got, all he can think of.

“So, um,” Blaine swallows, pauses, gives Kurt a faint squeeze where he’s touching. “Lay with me? We can order pizza or something, I don’t know-”

“Yeah- Yeah,” Kurt cuts in, slowly lowering himself back onto the mattress and instantly melting into it, feeling like he’s coming home, almost, in the simplest of ways.

Blaine reaches down, pulls the duvet over them, and he shuffles closer, knees knocking against Kurt’s first, then hand coming up to trace across Kurt’s collarbones again, so differently this time, with a reverence instead of a desire, with an ease instead of a drive.

And then Kurt wants to speak, so he does, not giving himself the chance to overthink it.

“I had that feeling, too,” he says softly, reaching out to twist one of Blaine’s curls around his finger, watching it spring when he lets go, then fully stroking his fingers through his hair, nestling there. “About you. That you were different, I mean, but I-I thought I’d...lost my chance to find out.”

Blaine just smiles, slowly and widely, and he leans in to kiss Kurt gently on the mouth, more of a press of that smile than anything else.

It makes Kurt smile, too, unable to help it.

“You didn’t lose your chance,” Blaine murmurs, staying close, nudging their noses together. 

Kurt can’t help but believe him, somehow feeling like he’s _earned_ the chance, if anything, in some backwards, convoluted way, that he’ll now be able to learn anything he wants about Blaine.

And he wants to learn everything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I got a prompt for ways to say I love you: through a song, and I decided...I wasn't done with my portland klaine yet. and so I am back, and they are back, and here we go!
> 
> and thank you to hayley for prompting AND for the song in reference <3

Being in love has always been something Kurt has wanted to experience - when he’s thought about it, it’s always been in extended future glimpses, the first dance at their wedding, cooking together in their kitchen, growing old together and sitting side-by-side on a porch swing.

It’s always been far away, foggy, fuzzy, and it’s always been with a million other things that needed to come before it, like figuring out his career, for one.

Of course, he’s always wondered what it all would be like, what kind of man he’d end up with, what sort of partner _he_ would be, what their wedding and the life they share would look like.

And there were the lower moments, too, where Kurt lay awake in the solitary dark of night and wondered if there was anyone out there for him at all, if they would ever find one another, or if his childhood of being either ignored or pushed around but never quite _understood_ was just destined to continue throughout his life, leaving him alone and keeping him lonely.

But more than anything, Kurt’s secretly hopeless romantic heart always held onto the tiny hope, buried deep down, that there _was_ someone, that they’d come together eventually, when they were meant to.

Actually _falling_ in love, though, wasn’t something he had ever given much thought.

Which is why Kurt doesn’t think anything of it when he starts doing it.

It all feels natural, gradual, _easy -_ waking up in the morning to Blaine on his mind, looking for little ways to see him or bump into during the shifts they share at Powell’s, exploring Portland with Blaine and going to Blaine’s favorite places and finding new ones to enjoy together, gravitating towards spending their days off together without truly discussing it, just wanting to share _everything_ with one another.

Grabbing two cups of coffee on his morning runs without a second thought, seeing something online and thinking _Blaine would like this,_ catching himself grinning at his phone when Blaine sends him ridiculously cheesy one-liners, feeling himself go warm whenever he catches Blaine just _looking_ at him.

Finding excuses to just _look_ at Blaine, too, forcing himself to go home at night to his own apartment instead of just sleeping over together, falling asleep with thoughts of kissing Blaine, touching Blaine, _feeling_ Blaine in his head.

Learning to _not_ hate beanies.

All of these things just creep up on him, and one day, after a few months, he realizes he almost doesn’t remember what living was like _before_ Blaine, especially not what living in Portland was like.

But it still doesn’t register to him as love.

It just registers to him as _Blaine_.

But then Kurt’s on the tail end of a long Saturday shift, leading a tourist family through the bookstore and to the Young Adult section, when he peers down the children’s lit aisle on their way past and sees Blaine, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he alphabetizes a shelf, and Kurt thinks, _god, I love him._

It’s not a dramatic realization, and it’s not a moment of time standing still, and it’s not a slap in the face, either.

It’s just a gentle wash of _oh, of course, that’s what this is._

And it’s funny, really, how much easier it is to love Blaine than to hate him.

As each day passes with him, Kurt feels more and more foolish for the days spent being so irritated by Blaine, put off by him, just- _bothered_ by him. 

Because being wanted and cherished and _held_ by Blaine feels like the soothing warmth of the sun on his skin, a stark contrast to the perpetual gray overcast of Oregon, especially in the way Blaine kisses him and touches him and makes him feel special, always special.

That all feels a lot like love, too.

But just like Kurt’s never been in love before, he’s never had someone be in love with him, either, and so he doesn’t assume that’s what it is.

He doesn’t assume it’s how Blaine feels, or that Blaine’s going to tell him, or that Blaine _should_ tell him.

In fact, considering the foot they got off on, all those months ago in front of Kurt’s favorite coffee shop, Kurt kind of figures it’s his job to say it, to put himself out there and _go_ for it.

Every moment spent with Blaine piles up with more and more of a pressing need to say it, tell him, _say it,_ anyways, regardless of whether Blaine is ready to say it back or if he’ll ever be ready.

Kurt just wants him to _know,_ feels it blooming inside of himself nearly to bursting.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

But he’s never told someone he loves them before, at least not like _this,_ and he doesn’t know how - doesn’t know if it should be something big, something planned out and set up and thought through, if it should be something small and spontaneous, if he should be worrying about it at all.

He just isn’t sure, and he spends as much time being stressed properly sharing his feelings as he spends actually _feeling_ them at all.

And then Kurt’s finishing closing one night, going around to shut the lights off, when he finds Blaine tucked up on the floor, knees against his chest as he leans back against a bookshelf, immersed in the pages of something.

Blaine looks so young like this, simple and quiet, worlds away. It doesn’t take much for him to get sucked into a book, and Kurt learned quickly that Blaine works here because he truly _wants_ to be, because nothing makes him happier than these stolen moments where he can read.

It’s so endearing, so _adorable,_ that Kurt can’t be annoyed that Blaine isn’t helping him close up, can’t pull him out of his story to tell him to vacuum or wipe the counters or anything.

“What are you reading?” he asks instead, keeping his voice soft as to not scare Blaine. He walks closer, too, inviting himself to curl up on the floor beside Blaine, having gotten effortlessly comfortable long ago at getting into each other’s space.

Blaine hums softly in acknowledgement, spending a few more moments with his eyes trained to the words before tearing them away, turning his head to smile sweetly at Kurt and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“A Judy Garland biography,” he explains, tilting the book partially closed to show off the cover. “She’s just… After we watched _A Star is Born_ the other night, I just needed to learn about her, you know?”

“I do know. She’s amazing.”

Blaine voices another soft hum, and then he goes quiet again, eyes drifting back to his book, and Kurt settles into the silence, too, just reveling in _being_ there with him, taking a moment of peace to get off of his feet and breathe after a long shift. There’s nothing that soothes him more than this, really, just having Blaine beside him, their arms brushing together, and he can’t help but lean his head against Blaine’s shoulder, curling in closer.

“One of my favorite memories back in high school was singing one of her songs,” Kurt murmurs, gentle waves of nostalgia lapping at his feet, a tinge of regret for straying so far from his home and even further from his best friend, ever in the back of his mind regardless of how unexpectedly content he is here in Oregon. “While Rachel sang _Happy Days are Here Again,_ it- it’s the first time I remember really feeling like I connected with someone. _Forget your troubles… Come on, get happy…”_

He sings the lyrics quietly, practically into Blaine’s neck where his face is tucked, smiling to himself as he watches Blaine set the book aside through half-lidded eyes, feels Blaine’s hand sliding gently into his own, their fingers twining together.

“Her album _Judy in Love_ is just- unparalleled,” Blaine sighs happily, brushing his thumb back and forth across Kurt’s knuckles. “I found it a couple years ago at that record store I took you to the other week- Crossroads, remember? I practically wore it out, I spun it so much.”

Kurt remembers - of course he does. If Blaine is in his element here at Powell’s, it’s almost twofold when he’s elbow-deep in crates of records, breathing in the dust of old vinyl and searching, searching, searching.

It’s not quite Kurt’s thing, not something he ever truly understood, but he could have stayed there for hours, just watching Blaine dig and look and _find._

And it’s interesting, really, how Blaine makes him _want_ to understand things like this, why certain albums are so special and how they’re even better when pressed into vinyl.

But of course, in the here and the now, there’s _this_ album, and Kurt’s loved it for years, in fact, remembers listening to it in the kitchen with his mother when he was young.

“It’s always been one of my favorites, too,” Kurt agrees, filing the memory away to share another day, not wanting to taint their moment even just with the bittersweet.

They revel there in the thought of it, separate memories connected by one album, one artist, one set of songs, but when the next sound comes, it takes Kurt’s breath away entirely.

 _“I hadn’t anyone till you,”_ Blaine sings softly, voice barely above a whisper. It feels like honey pouring into Kurt’s soul, pooling there rich and warm, and Kurt’s never felt closer to him, never felt closer to another person at all. _“I was a lonely one till you…”_

Blaine continues to sing, and then he trails off, and Kurt realizes.

The opportunity has been placed directly in his hands, and it’s here, and it feels effortless, oddly enough.

It feels like the night they kissed, pressed up against the bookshelves, too, but in such a different way, connected by a book that means something to both of them, feeling infinite.

The book that made Kurt take the plunge and kiss Blaine for the very first time says _we accept the love we think we deserve,_ and they’re the very words, too, that Blaine spoke himself that night. And sitting there in the quiet, empty bookstore, head on Blaine’s shoulder, feeling like he’s drifting and finally content in his own skin all at once, Kurt can’t help but think maybe this is _it,_ maybe, somehow, he _deserves_ this.

Maybe he deserves the way Blaine makes him feel, light and warm and giddy and comfortable and _right._

And so Kurt decides to accept it, and he lifts his head, causing Blaine to turn and look at him, and then he sings.

_“I had to save my love for you… I never gave my love till you.”_

It’s more of an exhale of a whisper than anything else, but he knows Blaine gets it, and Kurt can see the focus in the gold and amber in his eyes, feels his nearness like he’s the only other person in the universe.

He wants to say it, feels the words on the tip of his tongue, and then-

“I love you,” Blaine says breathlessly, face breaking into a moony-eyed smile, stealing the words right out of Kurt’s mouth as if he meant to all along.

And Kurt feels oddly shaken and stilled all at once, struck by the sudden knowledge that Blaine is right here with him, that Blaine _loves_ him, too, that they’ve come so far since the day they met and have so much further to go.

“I love you, too,” Kurt breathes out, looking at Blaine in awe and wonder and feeling it a thousand times over, and all that’s left to do is lean their foreheads together, reach up to cup Blaine’s jaw in his hand, breathe in again, and kiss him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely zero reason for this other than I felt like it
> 
> in fact, it's so spur of the moment that I barely edited it, but! enjoy if you can :-)

When Kurt is angry, he lashes out.

Blaine tells him he’s a hurricane - a whirlwind of frustration and anger, pulling anything nearby into its path, spinning and raging and attempting destruction, though he thankfully rarely achieves it.

Stark calm, once it’s over, once it passes.

Kurt hates that he does it, tries not to every time, fails every time.

Every time, Blaine has the patience of a saint - lets the fuse burn, listens, waits, helps Kurt sort through the rubble afterwards. Of course, it helps that it’s rarely directed _at_ Blaine _,_ but rather stress with work, money, looking for a new place to live, homesickness, that often comes out in Blaine’s direction.

Sometimes it feels like Blaine understands Kurt better than Kurt understands himself - he just seems to _get_ that Kurt has to let everything out right away so it doesn’t fester and turn into a worse, deeper sort of wound. He gets it out, and he moves on.

And, after all, it’s kind of how they started out, the two of them.

Blaine assures Kurt he knew what he signed up for, promises Kurt that he loves everything about him, even his imperfections, even his stubbornness and the flares of his hot-headed temper, and for the most part, Kurt actually believes him.

He loves everything about Blaine, too, after all, even his beanies, even the way he snores at night even though he insists he doesn’t, even the way he’s ridiculously bright-eyed and bushy-tailed every single morning.

Even the fact that the sweater Kurt had been wearing that first day became a permanent casualty, because it brought them _here,_ together, falling in love and working out how to stay in it.

But it doesn’t stop him from getting angry, and it doesn’t stop him from lashing out, and it means they fight.

They argue about meaningless, pointless things, raising their voices and reddening their faces, and it feels ridiculous in the back of Kurt’s mind even in the moment, but neither of them can help getting swept into the hurricane.

Then it blows over, like it always does, and they hold each other with tender hands and touch each other with gentle caresses of fingertips, and they kiss each other and kiss each other until the sting of whatever it had all been about fades far, far into the background, replaced entirely by oceans and pools and galaxies of warmth and sweetness and _them._

One night, after an argument brought on by the fact that they’re both drained and exhausted and overworked, after they’re okay again, Kurt can’t sleep.

Blaine is tucked in his arms, naked legs tangled together, his hand splayed low on Kurt’s belly, his face nestled into the crook of Kurt’s neck, right where it fits so perfectly, snuffling lightly, having drifted off soon after Kurt had gotten them cleaned up, clearly content and somehow at peace with their perpetual lack thereof.

But Kurt isn’t. He wants to know _why_ he starts fights, why there aren’t ever any true consequences for it, how long it’ll be before his luck runs out, before Blaine’s grace and his patience is spent, because he knows full well it isn’t endless. He doesn’t deserve it to be.

He lays in the dark, and he blinks up at the ceiling he can’t see, and he traces infinite little patterns and figures against the sleep-warmed skin of Blaine’s back, and he thinks.

He thinks back to the very beginnings of them, back to when they met, back to the stilted discomfort of their first weeks working together, back to the switch that flipped and changed it all.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take Kurt long at all to figure out what it is, what he’s hanging onto and improperly manifesting as outward anger that’s really meant to be directed towards himself. 

He realizes he’s still carrying a sharp twinge of guilt about the way he treated Blaine back then, about how cruel and mean and unforgiving he had been, about how unfairly _jealous_ he had become when Blaine rightfully avoided him. 

He knows Blaine forgave him long ago, simply and purely, and he knows that on Blaine’s side, once they had gotten together, that had been it.

But Kurt’s never properly apologized, and he needs to.

He needs to do something to permanently stitch shut the self-inflicted wound of regret in his heart, and he needs to make Blaine feel loved and cherished and replace every ounce of hurt he’s ever brought him.

Kurt needs to make it better, and then he can move on, and he can quiet the storm for good, not just for now.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for him to figure out what to do.

He makes quick work of arranging it, getting permission from the proper channels, settling the logistics, not letting on even the slightest hint of a clue to Blaine.

In fact, Blaine isn’t suspicious that something might be going on in the slightest, even when Kurt asks him to keep his Friday night free, tells him to be ready to be picked up at 9 - naturally, it’s typical for them to go out on the weekends, and there are countless places to go in the city, enough that they probably wouldn’t need to go to the same place twice if they didn’t want to.

But this is different - this isn’t somewhere new at all.

This is somewhere they know quite well.

Kurt channels his nerves into excitement as he knocks on Blaine’s door, a small bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, feeling confident and handsome in close-fitting pants, a royal blue button down, a skinny tie down the front.

It feels like the sweetest cliche, picking up his boyfriend for a surprise date, giddy like a teenager as Blaine greets him with a happy smack of a kiss and a close hug.

And they’re off.

“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” Blaine pouts as they turn onto Burnside Street, asking not for the first time. Kurt bites back a smile, shaking his head and standing his ground.

He knows Blaine will connect the dots soon - they’re tracing the path he walks nearly every single day, twice a day, after all.

But somehow, he doesn’t, not until Kurt pulls him by the hand towards the front door, pulling out his key and employee badge.

“We’re...at work?” Blaine asks, furrowing his brow in confusion as he blinks up at the _Powell’s_ sign, then looks towards the window display Kurt had set up the week prior, barely visible with the lights turned out.

“Come with me,” is all Kurt says in reply, opening the door and ushering him in, a gentle smile playing on his lips, a mix of adrenaline and love and happiness swirling in his stomach.

He had been nervous, getting it all set up, coming back after the store closed to prepare it all, then rushing to change and to pick up Blaine, but the second they get inside, he knows.

It’s going to be perfect.

He tugs Blaine over to the staircase, navigating the table displays of books carefully in the low light, leads him up to the second floor landing - and pauses when their set-up comes into view, smiles as he hears Blaine’s sharp inhale from beside him.

“Kurt, what-” Blaine begins, stops just as quickly, awe in his voice.

Looking over, Kurt finds the warmth of the fairy lights and candles he’s spread across the floor and the tables reflected in Blaine’s eyes, and his heart swells in his chest, full of an impossible amount of love for the man he gets to call his own.

Kurt had gotten permission from their supervisors to come back in after closing and spread out a blanket in the open space of the landing, and he had hung fairy lights from the shelves where he could fit them, propped up electric candles. There’s pillows on the floor, too, and a picnic basket with a bottle of wine and Blaine’s favorite treats - hummus and pita, mango cubes, clementines, cheese and crackers, chocolate-covered strawberries.

It isn’t much, but it’s the place where everything began, and Kurt knows how much Blaine loves it here. 

Powell’s is like Blaine’s second home, and Kurt wants it to be his own, too. He thinks this might be a chance for him to see it through Blaine’s eyes, to finally fall in love with the place where _they_ fell in love. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Kurt says simply as they sit on the cushions on the floor, wordlessly scooted close together so they’re touching as much as they can, arms, hips, thighs pressed together, warm and comfortable.

“It’s beautiful,” Blaine breathes, ducking in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth, lingering there with a barely audible hum. 

They’re quiet as Kurt pulls the little plastic plates and cups out of the picnic basket, pouring the wine, spreading an assortment of bites on each of their plates, but Kurt doesn’t mind it. Comfortable silence is something he’s come to love and to cherish with Blaine, and it feels just as easy as breathing, as being alone - maybe even easier than that.

He loves the way they seem to just _get_ each other, and though they always have something to talk about, there are times, too, when words just feel unnecessary, when their coexisting presence is more than enough.

It’s something Kurt had never expected to find with another person, had never expected to _enjoy._

But Blaine has surprised him time and time and again, just by being who he is, and Kurt hopes he’ll never stop.

“You know,” Blaine says softly once they’re both on their second glasses of wine, making their way through the container of hummus and polishing off the mango cubes. “I always wanted to sneak in here after dark. I just thought it would seem...magical, I guess, just being alone with the books all around me. It’s so silly, though, I never told anyone about it or thought to ask.”

“It’s not silly,” Kurt murmurs right away, punctuating it with a press of a kiss to Blaine’s temple. “And I had a feeling you’d enjoy it. It was pretty easy to get permission once I mentioned it was for you, but you know you’ve got everybody around here wrapped around your finger.”

“Even you?” Blaine turns his head to look at him, bats his lashes in what Kurt knows is meant to be a playful tease of a gesture but that clenches desperately at his heart, makes Kurt unable to do anything but kiss him.

He sets his plate blindly to the side, reaches up and cups Blaine’s face in his hands and kisses him thoroughly, sweet from the wine and sticky from the fruit, warm from the love Kurt feels in a trickle down to his toes, spreading through him completely as they sink into one another, only coming up for air once they absolutely need it. Even then, they stay near, foreheads leaned together, eyes closed, noses nudging, as if nothing could pull them apart.

 _“Especially_ me,” Kurt says breathlessly, peppering another series of small, chaste kisses to Blaine’s lips. “I love you _so_ much, Blaine, and I...I-I don’t tell you that enough.”

“I love you,” Blaine echoes right away, voice cracked and raw with emotion that feels thick and heavy in the air, all molasses in its weight and its sweetness. 

And they’re kissing again - whether Kurt comes to Blaine or the other way around, it doesn’t matter. In fact, nothing does, nothing other than _this,_ nothing other than _Blaine,_ and Kurt allows himself to get lost in it entirely, in the feeling of Blaine’s mouth, wet and warm and soft against his own, Blaine’s tongue, Blaine’s hands, Blaine’s body, lowering down against the blankets, shifting, underneath Kurt’s own.

“I could tell you a million times,” Kurt gasps shakily into Blaine’s ear as Blaine’s hands slide down to gently grip his ass, tugging him closer and easing him to straddle Blaine’s hips. “And it wouldn’t be enough.”

“I feel it,” Blaine whimpers, tilting his head back against the floor, baring his neck so irresistibly that Kurt can’t help but suck slow, wet kisses there, at his pulse point, down to his collarbone, at his Adam’s apple, all of the spots that make him shiver. “Y-You don’t even ha-have to tell me, Kurt. I-I feel it.”

But he needs Blaine to _know._

He needs to say it, prove it, show it, dig it under Blaine’s skin and make sure he _gets_ it, understands the depth of the way that he’s _changed_ Kurt’s life entirely, set it ablaze in a wildfire of feeling and excitement and _passion_ down a path Kurt never could have forged for himself.

Kurt hadn’t meant for it to turn into this.

He had expected them to share their picnic, maybe to exchange a few kisses, poke around the bookshelves, camp out in the poetry section and read sonnets and love poems to one another, but _this-_

Blaine’s body, warm and pliant and _willing_ underneath Kurt’s, Blaine’s hands, touching him everywhere, no sound in the typically-buzzing wide spaces of the store except for their ragged breaths, Blaine’s quiet moans…

This is exactly what they need.

And as he shakily reaches to tug Blaine’s shirt out of where it’s tucked into his pants, rucking it up to get his hands on his warm bare skin, Kurt is suddenly glad he thought to disable the security cameras.

If hurricanes once interrupted and consumed them, this, now, is the gentle laps of waves lulling on the sun-hot shore of a beach, quiet and peace and heat soothed by kisses and touches and soft ghosts of words, building towards a sort of pleasure and connection only they can give one another - fingers unzipping and unbuttoning, pushing down pants and underwear, curling around one another, kissing, touching, building, building, _building._

And maybe Blaine’s right - maybe Kurt _doesn’t_ have to say the words, or at least, maybe they aren’t the most important part of it all. Maybe love is in every piece of what they share together, in the comfort in their shared silence, in the little mundane details they inherently know about one another, even in the way Kurt knows exactly how to flick his wrist to make Blaine jolt in a flash of heat every time, how to bring him to the edge of it and draw him through, every single time.

As they kiss, a messy press of their mouths more than anything else, rocking together, hands wrapped one another, chasing the release together, together, _together,_ Kurt finally forgives himself.

He shakes as he comes, pressing his face into Blaine’s neck and moaning shakily through it, and the feeling lasts for ages, like his entire body is wracked with it, strong enough that he misses Blaine’s entirely, only knows he came, too, from the way he can feel Blaine’s body go boneless underneath him, entirely spent.

And when Kurt begins to feel himself go boneless, too, he shifts his weight to the side and curls up against Blaine instead, sliding his hand under his shirt and resting it on the warm skin of Blaine’s belly, letting himself sink right into the floor, content in his skin and in his soul for quite likely the first time since he moved to Oregon, if not ever.

They come down from it quietly, and Kurt feels like he’s floating upon the waves of what they’ve created. He didn’t know it was even possible to feel like this - carefree, comfortable, safe with another human in every conceivable way.

He never wants to forget this, hopes it won’t be the last time they feel this way, either.

“You want to know something?” Blaine speaks up quietly, shifting to lay on his side, hand finding Kurt’s somewhere between them, twining their fingers together.

“Hmm?” Kurt hums quietly in response, eyes fluttering open lazily to look at Blaine, searching his face for a clue of what’s to come.

“I always wanted to have sex in a bookstore.”

There’s a teasing twinkle in Blaine’s eye, but Kurt knows him well, and he knows - he probably means it.

“Weirdo,” Kurt laughs, leaning up just enough to kiss him again, grinning into it like the lovesick fool he is.

Like the lovesick fool he hopes he always will be.


End file.
